Then we piled on the power again and rushed away and
huvvered over Mount Sinai, and saw the place where Moses broke the tables
of stone, and where the children of Israel camped in the plain and
worshiped the golden calf, and it was all just as interesting as could
be, and the guide knowed every place as well as I knowed the village at
home.
But we had an accident, now, and it fetched all the plans to a
standstill. Tom's old ornery corn-cob pipe had got so old and swelled and
warped that she couldn't hold together any longer, notwithstanding the
strings and bandages, but caved in and went to pieces. Tom he didn't know
WHAT to do. The professor's pipe wouldn't answer; it warn't anything but
a mershum, and a person that's got used to a cob pipe knows it lays a
long ways over all the other pipes in this world, and you can't git him
to smoke any other. He wouldn't take mine, I couldn't persuade him. So
there he was.
He thought it over, and said we must scour around and see if we could
roust out one in Egypt or Arabia or around in some of these countries,
but the guide said no, it warn't no use, they didn't have them. So Tom
was pretty glum for a little while, then he chirked up and said he'd got
the idea and knowed what to do. He says:
"I've got another corn-cob pipe, and it's a prime one, too, and nearly
new. It's laying on the rafter that's right over the kitchen stove at
home in the village.
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